Dark of the Moon

Schmidt’s e-mail. The letters from the Curlys were gone, as Virgil thought they would be.
    “Doesn’t necessarily mean a lot,” Jensen said.
    “No, it doesn’t—it can’t be entirely innocent, but it might not be entirely guilty, either. Just trying to keep their asses out of the fire,” Virgil said.
    A set of headlights swept the yard, and a minute later, Margo Carr knocked, then stepped inside. “What’ve you got?”
    “I need you to take this computer to your place—not the office, to your place—and lock it up,” Virgil said. “Then, tomorrow, I want you to get in touch with the state crime lab about recovering files on the hard drive. Should be simple enough. Don’t have to do it yet, but make the arrangements.”
    She looked from Virgil to Jensen and back again: “What are we looking for?”
    “Roman Schmidt’s e-mails,” Virgil said. “All of them.”
     
    H E MET S TRYKER and Jensen again at nine o’clock the next morning, at the sheriff’s office, Virgil carrying a cup of coffee. “Where’s Merrill?”
    “He’s on his way,” Stryker said. “Larry’s filled me in: I think you probably ought to do this somewhere else. You could use a courtroom.”
    Virgil nodded, then said, “What about the guys from the DEA? They holding on?”
    Stryker nodded: “All holding on; I talked to Pirelli this morning. What exactly are you doing, Virgil? You never told Larry exactly what…”
    “Talk to you in a bit,” Virgil said. “Send Merrill over when he shows up.” To Jensen: “Let’s go nail down that courtroom.”
     
    T HE COURTROOM WAS EMPTY, and Virgil walked back and turned the latch between the courtroom and the judge’s chamber. He asked Jensen, “When are you gonna get that basement finished?” Virgil asked.
    “Virgil, I’m not up for any small talk, right now,” Jensen said. “These guys are friends of mine.”
    Virgil said, “Don’t worry about it. If they did do something wrong, we can always cover it up.”
    That made Jensen laugh, once. Then he shook his head and said, “I’ll remember that. You know, when they have me on the witness stand, and they’re puttin’ the screws on my thumbs.”
    “Listen,” Virgil said, “does anybody in town teach CPR? You know, where you practice on one of those dummies?”
    Jensen was confused: “Yeah. The fire guys do that. They go around to the schools…Why?”
    “Small talk, just keeping you occupied,” Virgil said. They heard footfalls outside the courtroom, and Virgil lowered his voice. “Here comes one, now.”
     
    M ERRILL CAME IN, looked at Virgil, and said to Jensen, “You called?”
    Virgil said, “When you talked to me in the men’s room, about Jesse Laymon, and her car not being there, at the Judd fire…Where were you? I didn’t see you there.”
    “I was up the hill, trying to keep people from doing an end run to the fire. I saw you go by.”
    “So, you said you didn’t see Jesse’s truck. Did you look at all the trucks?”
    “No…”
    “Then why pick on Jesse?” Virgil asked.
    Merrill hooked his thumbs over his gun belt, which, in a cop, is defensive: “I heard talk that nobody had seen her. And since I hadn’t either, I thought you should know.”
    “Who’d you hear that talk from?” Virgil asked.
    Merrill’s eye went to Jensen. “What’s going on, Larry?”
    “Not a big deal,” Jensen said. “We’re just trying to track down where you might have heard that.”
    “It’s sort of confidential…”
    “It’s not confidential from us,” Virgil said. His voice was mild, and quiet, so Merrill had to concentrate on him. “If I need to immunize you, and put you in front of a grand jury to get it, I’ll do that. Of course, you’ll lose your job. If there are any subsidiary entanglements, you could be going to Stillwater for a few years.”
    “What are you talking about?” Merrill barked. “I was giving you a tip.”
    Virgil looked at Jensen. “Better read him his rights. Do we have to do that with police officers? I think maybe we should.”
    Merrill said, “What the hell?”
    Virgil said, “We really need to know where you heard that. That’s all. No crime at this point. Could get to be a crime. Depending. So where did you hear it?”
    Merrill looked at Jensen, then back at Virgil. “Jesus…I mean, it’s no big deal, I guess. I heard it from Little Curly.”
    Virgil smiled. “See? That was easy enough. We thought you probably had. So, take off. Keep this to yourself.